Great Was This
Gentleman's Courtesy; He Laid Down His Pen, As If For Ever, And Gave
Himself Wholly To My Concerns.
His discourse delighted me, so
flowing were the phrases, so rounded the periods.
Yes, there were
other inns; one at the top of the town - the Vetere - in a very
good position; and they doubtless excelled my own in modern comfort.
As a matter of fact, it might be avowed that the Lionetti, from
the point of view of the great centres of civilization, left
something to be desired - something to be desired; but it was a
good old inn, a reputable old inn, and probably on further
acquaintance - -
Further acquaintance did not increase my respect for the Lionetti;
it would not be easy to describe those features in which, most
notably, it fell short of all that might be desired. But I proposed
no long stay at Cosenza, where malarial fever is endemic, and it did
not seem worth while to change my quarters. I slept very well.
I had come here to think about Alaric, and with my own eyes to
behold the place of his burial. Ever since the first boyish reading
of Gibbon, my imagination has loved to play upon that scene of
Alaric's death. Thinking to conquer Sicily, the Visigoth marched as
far as to the capital of the Bruttii, those mountain tribes which
Rome herself never really subdued; at Consentia he fell sick and
died. How often had I longed to see this river Busento, which the
"labour of a captive multitude" turned aside, that its flood might
cover and conceal for all time the tomb of the Conqueror!
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